Beyond Their Ken
by Djinn1
Summary: It's been noted that I've never done a Scott/Chapel. There's a reason for that: I don't find the character attractive, although like McCoy he often steals the show with his wit. So it was a challenge to write something for them that didn't feel "false." To make this work, this also is a Spock/Chapel. Not my normal Chapel, although after so many stories, what does that even mean?


Beyond Their Ken

By Djinn

The sun gleamed, turning the still water into a reflecting pool—beautiful but too bright. Chapel reached for her sunshades, trying not to move her pounding head as she did it.

"Doctor, I come bearing antitox." Scotty sat down beside her on the sand, his eyes bloodshot.

She dug a pill out of his hand and slipped it under her tongue. "How much did we have to drink?"

"I counted four bottles on the table."

"How many of us were at the table?"

"Well, it was variable. Average: about six."

She leaned her head back and groaned. "What the hell were we thinking?"

"I don't believe we were thinking, Christine. That was probably the point." He slipped the other pill into his mouth and lay back in the sand. "And we're both lovesick fools."

She whapped him on the side of his thigh. "Speak for yourself."

"Oh, lass, you went on and on about Spock. Just like during the first mission. I grew sick of it, to be honest."

"And you? You'd think Lieutenant Powlin shit roses out of her ass the way you talk about her."

He laughed, just like he always did when she called him on his crap.

"For what it's worth," he said, turning to look at her, "Spock's a fool."

"That's what I tell myself when I need a pep talk." She could feel the antitox working. "And your Lorraine? What was the problem? I don't remember?"

"She's leaving. Like Carolyn and Mira and..." He laughed, a self-deprecating sound. "I'm very easy to leave."

"Mmm, you and me both, friend." Not precisely true. Most of her men parted company by mutual agreement. She didn't go into her arrangements looking for love—or anything long term. She sighed and shifted in her chair to get more comfortable. Scotty was unaware of her extracurricular activities, which amused her the same way hiding her relationship with Roger used to, so she asked, "Is it us? Are we...annoying?"

"I think we must be. I mean I don't know about you—you're not exactly spilling secrets about any other men you might have set your cap on—but I've had dismal luck at this whole romance thing."

She patted his leg. "She'll come along someday, Scotty."

"Aye, that's what my mother says. It's no more comforting coming from you."

She laughed and murmured, "Sorry," as she surrendered to the antitox, to the lovely feeling of not being hung over, and to the glorious sunshine.

##

Chapel could feel Spock's eyes on her, turned around to figure out where he was in the rec lounge, and spotted him playing chess with Kirk. She took her drink and moved around the lounge, aiming to get somewhere that would not be such a straight shot for Spock to see her. She did it slowly, not wanting to look obvious.

By the time she looked back at him, he was ostensibly deep in the game. Then he leaned back, stretching his neck as if he had a crick, and seemed to be scanning the room where she was until their eyes met.

She could feel one side of her mouth going up. It was not her nicest smile, but she was finding Spock didn't bring out the best in her.

She hadn't expected this to happen again. Not after Gol, when he went to purge every bit of emotion from his human side—and his Vulcan one. His leaving had been a slap, even if Kirk had probably been more hurt. He was Spock's friend after all. She had never been that.

But she was something. Ever since they'd shared consciousness, things had changed. Oh, at first, she'd been in a bit of a funk knowing that he didn't love her and didn't want to love her. But then she'd realized that underneath the rejection was something else.

Lust. Pure, raw, unadulterated lust. It seemed linked somehow with the time in his quarters, just before he'd beamed down to Vulcan to his...wife.

It had occurred to her that it was probably the Vulcan half of him that wanted her, while the human part was the one holding her at arm's length—well, more like half a corridor's length. But it was ironic. She'd always thought his Vulcan side would be the one that would prove difficult.

She'd given up once he went to Gol, applied herself to medical school, found temporary fun with some very accommodating partners, then dedicated herself to landing the CMO slot with Decker on the _Enterprise_.

But then V'ger had come, and Kirk had returned, and Len had taken her job. And Spock had come back.

Empty, he was so empty at first. But then...slowly, the signs began to show.

He still wanted her, and he still didn't want to be with her.

So far, she had not been able to crack the shell of disinterest that lay over the lust, but these interactions—him watching her, her knowing he was—were increasing in frequency.

"Ah, lass, give it a rest, will ya?" Scotty came up and eased her toward a corner that afforded them some privacy. "I think we need a pact of some sort."

She shook off his arm. "I'll do what I want. I'm not with you. And even if I was, I'd still do what I want."

"I didn't say you were with me. I said we needed a pact—an agreement: not to make utter asses of ourselves. But if you're bound and determined to do that, don't let me get in your way." He raised his drink to her and walked off, and she thought he was trying not to stomp.

"What did you do now?" Uhura asked as she came up, her expression the one that said she was _well_ ahead of Chapel in alcohol consumption. "Let's find a seat where you can stare at Spock and I can stare at the captain."

Chapel laughed. "Officer thinking, Ny."

"I see Scotty with you a lot. I think he likes you."

"Yes, as a pal, a bud, a...fellow loser in love."

"You only lose because all you want is Spock. There are a lot of guys who would love to spend time with you." Ny's face changed, the way it did when she tried to do advanced calculations while inebriated. "Not that you're ever lonely for long. This voyage or last. Guys like you. A lot of guys like you. A lot, a lot."

Ah, the ever-scientific damnation of "a lot, a lot." Chapel shook her head and laughed softly. "Not that many." And certainly not until she'd lost Roger. She might like to have fun, but she was fully capable of being faithful when it counted. But if there was no overarching reason for fidelity, and the men were game and looking for the same, temporary thing, what harm was there in it? She glanced at Ny, thought that she was deep in thought. "Did you hear what I said, Ny? Not that many."

"I need to go to my toes to count them."

Chapel decided not to mention those were only the ones that Ny knew about. "Our beloved captain is just as free with his affections. I don't see you complaining about that."

"Yes, I do. I complain all the time. Just silently, in my head." She took a deep breath. "But that's because _I_ want him. You're discreet, Christine. I'm not judging. And I'm sure people who aren't your closest confidant don't know how busy you are. Plus you pick really good guys who never badmouth you. Why do none of them work out for you?"

"I'm not really looking for love, I guess?" She'd never told Ny or Jan about her realization of Spock's lust for her. She'd kept it her secret, like she kept other things that way. They thought she was open and told them everything, but as had always been the case in her life, her friends really didn't know her all that well.

One man did. The human part of him seemed to be repelled. The Vulcan part, however...

"I don't know Ny. The guys I've been with weren't looking for anything serious either. Why would they badmouth me? Certainly your argument is a good reason not to take up with Scotty. He's not known for being able to stay in the friends-with-options zone."

Ny laughed. "No, no he's not. Do you think he'd be good?"

"I don't know." It was a question Chapel had often pondered. Scotty had an amazing amount of focus, which often translated well into giving pleasure. He had a sharp wit and a sense of humor she resonated with. On the other hand, there was a streak of misogyny that surfaced at the weirdest times, and who knew if bed would be one of those instances. Better to just be the pal he whined to about his lack of love than the cause of his angst.

Ny leaned back in the couch, her shoulder against Chapel's. "The captain looks good, doesn't he?"

"He generally does." She might prefer his best friend, but she wasn't blind. And he'd been kind to her, ever since she'd talked him into letting her aboard to look for Roger. He had a sweet center that she might not have minded exploring if her two best friends didn't have such raging crushes on him—Jan so much so that she'd transferred off rather than live through not having him again.

"Spock looks good, too," Ny said, as if trying to give her something.

"He generally does, as well." Chapel laughed. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not sure. Was just in the mood tonight, you know?"

"I do." She held her glass up and was happy to see Ny didn't have any trouble clinking hers against it. There was happily drunk and stupidly drunk, and Ny didn't drink often enough to know the difference at times. But that's why Chapel usually had antitox with her when a lounge night was in order. She'd make Ny take one in an hour or so: friends didn't let friends make fools of themselves when they could prevent it.

##

Chapel hurried into the mess, intent on finally getting some lunch. It had been an unusually busy day in sickbay and she was starving.

The mess was packed. Either everyone was lingering or lots of sections got a late start on lunch. She looked for an empty table but there weren't any. She'd usually just grab and go, but if she went back to sickbay, she'd end up leaving her lunch to help Len or the nurses. She wanted to eat her entire lunch in one sitting.

"Christine." Scotty motioned her to a table near the door. "You look like you could use a place to rest your weary feet."

"You're right. Am I welcome? You still mad at me?"

"I wasn't mad at you. I was just tired of trying to rescue you."

She sat and began to eat, too hungry to argue for a moment. Then she put her fork down and said, "I don't recall asking to be rescued."

Was that Scotty's problem? He thought women needed him to rescue them? From what? Him, possibly, judging by how quickly and permanently his lady loves took off.

"I've been your ear for years now, Christine. From the time of that bloody virus to Spock coming back from Gol. I've heard about every woman he's been interested in. Like when he and Doctor McCoy were marooned in Sarpeidon's past with that woman."

Zarabeth. Who also apparently shit flowers, based on what Len had told her. Chapel rolled her eyes. "You get me drunk, and I spill my guts. It's not like I tell anyone else about the women." Well, other than Ny and Jan.

"There's no one twisting your arm and saying, 'Take a pull from this bottle, lass.' You do just fine in the drinking department on your own."

"It's why you like me. It's how we started sharing secrets." Some secrets. Safe secrets.

"Aye." He played with his food, then said softly, "Back then, Doctor McCoy told me some of what went on when he and Spock were in Sarpeidon's past."

"You mean the ethereal Zarabeth?"

"Must have pained you to hear he could love."

She laughed. "I've always known he could love, Scotty. There've been plenty of signs of that. Nothing about Zarabeth was a revelation." And from what Len had told her, Spock had reverted to a primordial Vulcan. Chapel had wondered what would have happened if she'd been on the mission, too. Would Zarabeth have looked so enticing if Chapel had been available for Spock's Vulcan half to finally slake his lust? It amused her to think of Len getting a go with the woman he couldn't say enough nice things about. Len had about as much luck as Scotty when it came to locking down a relationship.

Chapel frowned. "Why are we talking about this?"

"Because shore leave is coming up, and I was wondering if you've made plans."

She studied him. "Are you asking me as a friend?"

He nodded, but something was off. So she waited and he finally said, "At least, I think so."

Which meant "No" in Scotty-speak.

"I have plans most days." She and Ny were meeting up with Jan since they'd be back on Earth. And she had other assignations with several of her special friends—some of the ones Ny didn't know about. "But if you want to go to dinner, we could. I have some evening's free."

"Don't strain yourself working me in."

"Scotty, we'll be home. I have family." Family she never, ever saw, but always a handy excuse that no one questioned—or wanted to go with her to.

He looked chastened. "Of course. I'm sorry. Not sure what's wrong with me." He had the look he often got when someone had ticked him off in his crew—and when the someone was a woman. This was the side of him Chapel didn't like.

"I got a comm from Mira. She's getting married. Invited me to the wedding. It's the last day of shore leave. I was hoping that you'd get dressed to the nines and make her jealous."

She smiled—she could understand how that would make him peeved and was relieved that she'd been wrong about the women engineer issue. "I could do that. Do I have to hang all over you?" Not that Mira would know it was out of character. Chapel and she had not frequented the same groups—and Scotty tended to disappear into a relationship. So Chapel had lost her role as his drinking pal during his time with Mira or any of his ladies of the moment.

"It would be appreciated if you would. My ego took a beating with that one."

"Fine, but I'm not dressing cheap for you."

"Of course not. You'd more than do the way you look right now."

She laughed. "In a uniform? In these god-awful new uniforms?" At least the miniskirt had showed off her best assets. The new pajamas masquerading as uniforms that Starfleet had made standard issue were unforgiving and clung in the worst places. "I can do better than that."

His eyes were dancing, the way they usually did when they were drinking. This was the Scotty Chapel liked. "Thank you, Christine."

"You owe me."

"I'll happily pay off my debt any way you like." He was flirting, but it was low intensity and the mischievous gleam was still in his eyes. She decided she liked it, too.

##

Chapel pulled on the blue and white dress she'd brought for the wedding, leaving her hair down and wavy, and her make-up subtle but perfectly enhancing her eyes, making them more cat like than they normally were.

"You look terrific. Are you sure you have to go?"

She laughed and turned. Meeting Mark at the hotel hadn't been in her plans, but he'd been a friend she'd blown off stress with during med school, and he'd been only too happy to resume their relationship. "Yes, I have to go. Promised a friend."

"A friend doesn't merit such a knock-out." He tried to hug her and she held him back.

"You have not even showered. I am not going to be someone's plus one smelling of sated CMO."

That stung a bit. That Mark was a CMO when she wasn't. She hadn't been shy about announcing her posting when she'd got it. She'd worked damned hard to secure such a plum assignment so why be shy? Not that people hadn't talked. Just out of med school and getting the flagship: clearly close to the captain, closer than his other officers possibly?

She studied herself in the mirror, the slight smirk, the defiance in her eyes that told her she still didn't care what people thought. Then she turned back to Mark. "This was fun."

"Yes it was. Can we meet up again?"

"I don't know. Is your ship going to be anywhere close to the _Enterprise_?" It was snotty to say it that way. She might not be CMO, but she was still second medical officer on the flagship. He was on a frigate.

"Ah, Chris, how I miss your inner bitch." He moved past her, and grabbed a towel. "I assume I can shower now?"

"You can." She moved around him, letting her hand linger on his backside until he laughed and blew her a kiss in the mirror before getting into the shower. She didn't want to alienate him; the sex was terrific.

She enjoyed the view for a moment, watching him through the transparent shower door until he started doing silly poses for her. "I'll see you around, Mark."

"Yes, you will."

She arranged for the hotel to get her luggage back to the ship, then commed Scotty from the lobby and agreed to meet him at a nearby transporter station. He looked dapper in a suit, and as they stood and waited in line, she tried to decide if she liked his mustache. It wasn't normally her thing, but it sort of suited him.

"Have I told you that you look beautiful?" he asked, his smile a nervous one.

She laughed. "Twice now."

"Oh. Good." He peeked out, as if to see why the line wasn't moving faster.

"Why are you even going to this? Why did she invite you?"

He rolled his eyes. "They leave me on such good terms, Christine. I'm the sweet guy—the 'it's not you, it's me' guy. The guy they give hugs to when we meet unexpectedly."

"Would you rather have drama?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Some days, yes. The great loves of our lives—do we really just let them go with a 'no harm, no foul' attitude? I think it's the relationships that are never going anywhere we leave like that. Because there's no passion, no..."

"Angst?"

"Or something. I shouldn't be invited to my ex-girlfriend's wedding."

"No argument here." She took his hand and squeezed it for a moment. "But you're a good guy for going. And with a nice present even."

"It was a gift from a friend."

She started to laugh. "You're re-gifting Mira's wedding present?"

"Damned straight, lass."

Was he wonderfully vindictive or just cheap? She knew the stereotype of the frugal Scotsman, but he'd never struck her as a miser. Then again, she'd never really been that fond of Mira so what did she care?

Finally, they were at the padd, and Scotty gave the tech their destination. They materialized in a nearly deserted transporter outpost in the Adirondacks and caught a flitter to the historic lodge Mira and her fiancé had rented out for the festivities.

Chapel saw that he was clenching his fists. "You really loved her, didn't you?"

"I did." He met her eyes, and there was something very bleak in his.

"Do you love all of them that way?"

"No. She was special." He smiled sadly at her. "My Spock, I reckon."

"Maybe." Except his Spock didn't seem obsessed with him the way her Spock did at times with her. "So how do you want me to play this, Mister Scott? The haughty—but not to you—intellectual? The woman who can't get enough of sex with you? The sweet girl next door who has had a crush for years and finally it's played out."

He stared to laugh. "All those are in your repertoire?"

She shrugged. "I'll wing it if it's not a role I'm familiar with."

He took her hand, held it with both of his, and shook his head. "Just do what you think best—but don't cause a scene."

"Have I ever caused a scene?" She started to laugh at his expression. "Barring that guy who would not get out of our way when we were headed to the bar on Omicron Delta, have I ever caused a scene?"

"You have not." His death grip eased. "You gave that poor lad a tongue lashing."

"I asked him nicely to move. Three times. What's your favorite saying? Fool me once, fool me twice...?"

"I'm not criticizing, Christine." He looked away as the flitter turned into a long driveway. Up ahead a beautiful mountain lodge was overrun by a sea of dark suits and pastel dresses.

"So glad I didn't wear something light."

"You really are a sight for sore eyes." He laughed. "Or even jaded eyes would find you stunning."

She grinned. "There's my Scotty."

"Aye, let's go knock them dead."

"Well, not literally."

He laughed. "The day is young. Who knows what might happen?"

She grinned and let him help her out of the flitter.

As it happened, Mira only came over to talk to them once, so Chapel made sure it was very clear she was "with" Scotty and then they drank and explored the lodge for the rest of the reception, missing the cake cutting and the bouquet throwing, but managing to get back in time for the flinging of the birdseed.

"She made a beautiful bride," Scotty said, his tone more than a little morose as he called for beam-up to the ship.

"All women make beautiful brides, my friend." She kissed him on the forehead, then backed off, waiting for the familiar buzz of the transporter.

She felt the pang she always did not seeing Jan at the transporter controls. It was supposed to be Jan and Ny and Chapel. Having fun and taking no prisoners. No Kirk. No McCoy. No Spock.

"Thank you for saving me, Christine."

"I didn't save you. And we were barely at the wedding."

"Mira saw us. I did the right thing. Staying at the reception wasn't the point."

"Being a nice guy was?"

He nodded.

"Nice guys finish last."

He laughed softly and nodded. "Story of my life, lass. Story of my life."

##

The ship had taken too many hits. Chapel fought to stay on her feet as more injured limped into sickbay.

"I don't know what the hell Jim is doing up there, but he needs to stop." Len moved around her, pausing a moment to check her progress with a crewman's broken arm before moving to the door to help the new arrivals.

She took a deep breath, trying not to feel the panic that always came in these situations. Panic she never let show on her face, that she forced down and down, until it was buried so deep inside her there was no way it could get out.

This was the life she had signed up for. And she was good at this, good at emergencies. She just really hated being shot at—or being aboard the ship that was the target, at any rate.

"It'll be over soon, right?" The crewman's voice shook.

"First tour?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"It'll be over soon." She finished regenerating and put a stabilizing sling around his neck, then helped him get his arm nestled comfortable in it. "You have to wear this for twenty-four hours. Give your arm a chance to heal. All right?"

He nodded, and since he seemed eager to get out of sickbay, she logged in his final readings and released him to his quarters. Where, she knew from experience, it was way worse to wait out a red alert. But he'd find that out for himself.

Another hit, and she tried to keep lunch down as the ship rolled more than usual. She heard Len mutter under his breath. And then she heard, "Medical emergency in engineering." Scotty sounded light years beyond frazzled.

"You go. He doesn't have a crush on me so he doesn't listen as well." Len moved on to the next bed.

"He doesn't have a crush on me. We're friends."

"Uh huh. You just keep telling yourself that, darlin'."

She grabbed a medkit and an antigrav gurney and hurried down to engineering. Scotty was doing...something—hell, she had no idea what went on down here. Engineering was not her thing. But she saw a man down and hurried to him. "What happened?" she asked, but he was unresponsive despite his eyes being open. "Scotty?"

He turned, his look drained and also full of something she thought was guilt. "I was having him work on that panel. We had a power surge. It threw him halfway across the room."

"Okay. It's okay." She met his eyes. "I'll take care of him. Go be a miracle worker."

She didn't get a smile. But he nodded and turned back to his console.

She scanned, not liking what she was seeing, so she filled a hypo with restoratives that should help. Then she resumed scanning, checking for any damage from being thrown. He was lucky: he'd stopped just short of another console, but he'd hit his head hard when he'd landed on the floor. She eased him to his side, cringed at the damage the scanner was showing under the skull. "I've got to get him to sickbay."

"Will he be all right?" Again the shattered look on Scotty's face. "He was working in another section. I put him on that panel."

"Yes, because you're in charge here, and you needed him on that panel, and that's what we do when we're in charge. You had no way of knowing that panel would experience a power surge."

"I should have."

There was no arguing with him when he was determined to take the blame. "I have to go. Help me get him on this gurney. I don't want to jar his head more than necessary."

He hurried over. "Is it bad, Christine?"

She decided he didn't need to hear that it was—that she was very worried about this young man's chances. Instead, she just said, "We'll know in a while. We're going to do everything we can for him."

"His name is Harold Lannett . His dream was to serve on this ship. Under me." His jaw tightened as they eased Lannett onto the gurney. "I trust you, Christine."

She tried to hold back the reflex swallow, the one that showed fear. He trusted her: he didn't need to know that she wasn't being entirely truthful with him. "Get back to work, Scotty."

"Aye aye, Captain Chapel." His grin was off, but at least he tried.

##

Lannett's biobed readings were headed steadily in one direction: down. Chapel closed her eyes and tried to think of something else she could have done. Her restoratives had prolonged his life, but for what? The power surge and the impact had combined to make any chance of recovery nill.

Len came over, stood by her, his hand on her shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up. There's nothing we could have done for him."

"I should have scanned him more thoroughly before I gave him the shot."

"You were treating the electrolyte and neurotransmitter imbalance from the surge. Standard protocol." He squeezed her shoulder, then let go. "Why don't you go?"

"No, you go. You've been on longer." And this was her first patient that wouldn't make it. The first one she'd lose.

"Loss is inevitable, Christine. Comm me if you need to talk when this is over."

She nodded and looked around sickbay. Red alerts played havoc with medical shifts. Beta had been called in midway through alpha to help with the injured. Gamma was due in about an hour. She should have been off eight hours ago.

She saw Scotty at the door, and he met her eyes, then he took a deep breath, walked over, and pulled a stool with him to sit on the other side of the bed.

"We're losing him, Scotty."

"Aye. I can tell by the way you're sitting, by your expression."

She cocked her head and studied him. "You know me that well?"

"Yes." He touched Lannett's shoulder, murmured things she only half caught. About how proud Scotty was of him, of how he couldn't have fixed the engines without him, of how much he would miss him.

She didn't interrupt, just watched the readings go down and down and down and—flat.

She logged the time of death, ran final checks to ensure there was no error on the part of the biobed, then had a corpsman take the body to the morgue.

Scotty didn't move from the stool.

"Let's get out of here," she said, pulling his arm, and he followed her without a word, to the lift, to her quarters, to the bed, where they tore off each other's clothing and fell onto the bed. She knew what this was: in the face of death it was natural to want to embrace life, and sex was the most life-affirming act the body could engage in.

And a drug of its own kind, as she well knew.

She didn't realize she was crying until he stopped and murmured, "Am I hurting you, Christine?"

"No. It was...Lannett was the first one I lost."

He kissed her gently. "I'm sorry. I wish he was the first one I'd lost. But he's not. I hope you never catch up with me."

"Me, too." She let him roll her to her back, let him do whatever he wanted. And for once she didn't try to judge how good it was or if she wanted to be with a man again or not. They were taking solace in each other and that alone felt nice.

As he finished, as he rolled off her, she saw a tentative expression come over him. He met her eyes and said, "I know this isn't...it's a reaction. Do you want me to go?"

With another man, she might have said yes. But this was her friend. She pulled him closer and murmured, "No. Sleep. I'm so tired."

He nodded, waited as she turned on her alarm, then pulled her back into his arms, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Sometimes I feel so old, Christine. Like I've seen it all."

"You're not old. You're just exhausted and running on adrenaline. And sex." She could feel her eyes drooping. "I'm sorry. I'd talk more but..."

His eyes seemed to be drooping, too. "Go to sleep. Maybe we can have breakfast before shift?"

"Sure." She didn't know if that was a good idea. Might set up that this was more than just comfort. But she was too tired to care.

##

She woke to a gently buzzing alarm and a warm body around her—not that unusual, but Scotty was holding on very tightly. She gently extricated herself from his grip, silenced the alarm, and turned to study him.

This had probably been a very bad idea.

He opened his eyes. "Good morning," he said, with a smile.

"Morning." She tried to give him a real smile, but she could tell by the way his expression changed that her look had come off forced.

"Before you start trying to get me out of here, Christine, let me say I know this is just...sex. We were grieving—and stressed and exhausted and angry and a score of other emotions, no doubt."

She nodded.

"But at the end of the day, we're still friends, aren't we?"

She knew her expression was getting warmer by the way he seemed to be relaxing. "Yes, we're friends."

"And friends eat breakfast, and I'm starving. I came straight to sickbay, and I can't remember when my last meal was. So...let's go." He touched her cheek. "I'll meet you in the corridor in twenty minutes?"

"Sounds good." She watched him go, strangely reluctant to let him see her naked even though they'd spent quality time flesh on flesh. She hurried to the shower once he was gone.

She slipped on some makeup, threw her hair up into a damp bun, and pulled on a clean uniform. She wasn't watching where she was going as she walked out of her quarters and nearly collided with Spock.

"Christine."

"Sir."

His eyes narrowed and she knew it was at the formality. It pleased her that she hadn't squeaked out his name like she had when he'd first returned from Gol. Then she realized he'd actually called her by her name.

"You seem rushed." It was not like him to stand around stating the obvious.

She decided to see if she could take advantage of that. "No, I'm just waiting for someone."

Again his eyes narrowed, then he turned and she realized he'd heard Scotty's footsteps before she had.

"Ah, Mister Spock. Do you think the captain can avoid irritating anyone today? I have repairs to finish and no desire to do it while we're under fire." Scotty moved closer to her, and she wasn't sure if he was even aware how territorial he looked.

"I do not know what the day will bring." Spock turned to her, seemed to want to say something, but she didn't give him the chance.

Instead she put her hand on Scotty's arm, said, "We have to go. You understand?" and then pushed Scotty toward the lift. She let go as soon as they were around the corner, but Scotty looked at her, a hurt expression on his face.

"What the hell was that?"

"I'm hungry. Like you, I haven't eaten. And what the hell did he want anyway? It certainly wasn't me." There, that was like the Christine he was used to hearing complain.

He seemed somewhat mollified. "You do get testy when your blood sugar drops."

"Like I said." She pushed him onto the lift so he wouldn't think her touching him in front of Spock was so odd. "We've had sex, Scotty. There's a certain physicality to that."

"Does that mean we'll have sex again?"

She wanted to say they wouldn't. She knew she should say they wouldn't. But all she could see was Spock's face as Scotty had...claimed her— there was no other word for it—in the corridor. God help her, but if this could force Spock into admitting he wanted her, she'd dangle a friend along.

Not badly. Not enough to hurt him.

She'd tell him how it was from the beginning.

She wouldn't lie.

"That wasn't supposed to be a hard question, Christine?" He looked puzzled.

She didn't blame him. Her behavior was probably giving him whiplash. "If we did have sex again, it'd just be as friends. I'm not looking for long term or love or anything else. But it was fun. So yeah, maybe...?"

"Not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"It's better than 'Hell, no,'" she said with a grin.

"You've got me there."

##

Chapel was working in her office when she realized Spock was standing at her open door. She looked up, let both eyebrows rise in an unspoken, "What do you want?" way.

"I am here for my physical."

This wasn't unusual. Since the meld with V'ger, Len had made him come in weekly for check-ups.

"Oh, if Len isn't in his office, he'll be back soon."

"He is on the bridge. You are qualified to conduct a physical, are you not?" The way he said it sounded incredibly snotty.

She laughed. "Last time I checked." Getting up, she walked around the desk, gestured for him to precede her out of the office. She patted a biobed and said, "Hop up," in her best clinical tone.

Let him think she was over him. Let him think she was happy with someone else. Those were usually concepts guaranteed to make a man crazy.

She forced herself to focus on his physical. "Your levels are much closer to normal."

He seemed surprised. "I thought perhaps they had not lowered since last time?"

She kept her face as neutral as she could. "Why? Something wrong?"

"Not as such. Nothing serious."

"Good. And no, you look great." She smiled as blandly as she was capable of. "Okay, you're done. Len will faint when he finds out you came here without any badgering." She turned.

"Christine."

She turned back, still making notations on her padd. "Hmmm?" She was enjoying the "Over You" routine and could tell it was making him the slightest bit angry by how his readings went up on the biobed.

He slid off the bed, as if aware he was being outed by the tech. "We have not spoken much. Since I rejoined the crew."

"We haven't talked at all, Spock. I think this is the longest interaction we've had." Other than him staring at her during their off hours. "Okay, you can go." She grinned, turned on her heel, and walked into her office.

It took him a moment to leave. She was trying not to laugh and prayed he wouldn't come into her office. No way she could pretend disinterest if he did.

##

Chapel was dancing with Scotty, a fast dance that didn't require a lot of groping or grace. She knew Spock was watching her. So was Scotty, with a rather moony look on his face. She rolled her eyes at him.

He leaned in and said, "What'd you do that for?"

"We're just friends dancing."

He grinned. "But we didn't dance before. Not without a whole lot of alcohol fueling us onto the dance floor. Sober dancing with you is nice."

"We're just friends." And they hadn't been in bed since that first time. Another round of sex too soon would send a message that more was possible. And she didn't want to say that.

He nodded and went back to dancing, seemingly unconcerned at being shoved back into the friend zone. Then again, his inability to take "yes, but just for now" as an answer might lie at the heart of his romance issues.

If so, picking a woman who didn't like to commit except to powerful men was probably not a winning bet. Chapel sighed. Was it wrong to know what she liked, to understand how she would act? Wasn't it some form of self-actualization if you looked at it sort of squint-eyed? She was honest with him. He knew she was in love with Spock. And yet here he was making googly eyes at her again.

But then he saved the moment with the one-sided grin that usually heralded a sharp burst of hilarious sarcasm.

The music ended and she headed for the bar, not caring if he was following. There were plenty of other women to dance with and he seemed to get the hint. He found an ensign Chapel didn't recognize and led her to the dance floor for a slower number.

"You appear to have lost your suitor." Spock's voice was pitched low; no one around them would be hearing this conversation, and she smiled as she turned to him, rising eyebrows his only answer.

He met her eyes. His seemed...angry, almost. Intense, certainly. And full of what she knew was desire. "If you are free tomorrow after your shift," he said, "I should like to speak with you privately."

She knew her smile was one of almost cat-like satisfaction. His eyebrow went up, and he started to turn away. She grabbed his sleeve just long enough to stop him, then said, "I didn't say yes."

He glanced back at her. "But we both know you will. Good night, Christine. Enjoy your evening."

She watched him leave, felt rather than saw Scotty come up next to her.

"So. What did he want?"

She met Scotty's eyes, was not going to lie about this. "He wants to talk to me."

"Tonight?"

"Tomorrow."

He took a deep breath, then sat on the stool. "Your dreams coming true?" He sounded bleak.

She shrugged, unwilling to hurt him.

"Well, it took him long enough to realize what a lovely woman he had waiting for him." He cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. "I think I've had enough dancing for one night."

"Don't be sad over this—over me."

"Because we're just friends? I've gotten the memo, Christine. Multiple times."

He turned away before she could say it was because she wasn't worth it, that she was never going to be the kind of woman he needed. But he was clearly more in the mood for a sulk than actual conversation.

She'd never lied to him. As she threw back her drink then headed for the door, she kept telling herself that.

##

The next day's shift took forever to finish. She went back to her quarters, feeling on edge, took off her uniform and tried on several outfits before she decided to stop trying so hard.

Spock wanted her. Finally: he wanted her.

But he hadn't been very specific when after shift he wanted to see her. Was it now? Was it after he ate dinner? Should she comm him?

The buzz of her own comm terminal interrupted her nervous obsessing. "Chapel."

"I am in my quarters."

"Okay."

The channel went dead.

Man of few words. That was good, right?

She checked herself in the mirror one more time, then hurried down the corridor to Spock's quarters. She rang the chime and heard, "Come," and the door opened.

He was lighting fire pots, his uniform traded for a dark robe. He didn't turn around right away.

She moved deeper into the room rather than stand at the door like a nervous schoolgirl—she'd never been one back in the day, why start now?

He finally turned around, seemed to be studying her. "You...initiated something when you came to me during the burning."

"Can you be more specific?"

"I desire you. It is quite...primal."

"I know. I saw it when we shared consciousness."

"I am aware of that. We saw much of each other that day."

"Indeed," she said, using one of his favorite words.

"I believed that after V'ger, after the meld with it had worn off, that I would be free, or at least more in control of this...lust."

She moved closer. "But you're not?"

"I am not. And seeing you with another man bothers me on a fundamental level."

"I don't consider that a bad thing."

His expression did not change. He was looking at her with very little tenderness, but a great deal of intensity. "No, I imagine you do not."

"What do you want to do about this lust?"

"Sex would be the logical step."

She laughed. "This is not romantic."

"I realize that."

"I love you. I never stopped loving you. And I want you. Now. Please." She reached out and touched his face.

He leaned into her hand. "Yes. Now."

And then they were kissing, and it was everything she'd ever wanted from him. He had her clothes off so fast she wondered why she'd even worried about what to wear. She returned the favor, and pushed him toward the bed, following him down, letting her hands and mouth roam, getting to know his body.

He pushed her to her back, copied her actions, stopping when he found something she liked, licking and sucking until she clutched the bedcovers and cried out.

And then he was inside her, moving with purpose, his eyes screwed shut, quiet and not saying anything. Not her name, or that what he was doing felt good.

"Look at me," she whispered, and he did, but she wasn't sure that was an improvement, so she pulled him down and kissed him, riding out his thrusting, and then feeling more, another wave of pleasure—a wave that left her reeling, lying helplessly under him as he finished.

He lay on top of her for a moment, running his fingers across her face as if memorizing the feel of her, then he rolled off her.

"That was nice," she said softly, not sure if he wanted to talk.

"That was exceptional."

"I guess you didn't like seeing me with Mister Scott."

"I did not." His words were what she wanted to hear, but he seemed to be moving away from her, putting distance between them in the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"This is not the beginning of something, Christine. This is not a love affair. This was sex. You are the thing I desire, and I have satisfied that desire. For now. I believe in the future, it will flare again."

"I'm a _thing_?"

"I saw a great deal when we shared consciousness. You are a much keener observer—and player—of others than I, or probably anyone on this ship realizes. I know that you understand what I am feeling. And what I am not."

She felt as if he'd slapped her. "You do realize that it's your Vulcan side that wants me, right? You've wanted to embrace that. Give in to it."

"You mean: give in to you?" He shook his head. "I have no wish to tie myself to you. Although these interludes—if we continue them—will be quite pleasant."

"Interludes. That sounds so pretty. Until one remembers that an interlude is something they play at intermission. Accompaniment for someone's basic needs."

"Sex is a most basic need."

"Love isn't."

"I do not love you, Chris. To tell you otherwise would be most unfair to you." He frowned slightly. "I am curious, though. It was clear through our shared connection all those years ago that you have had other lovers that you saw only periodically. I see no reason to think that you do not still have such men. How is this different?"

"It's different because I love you."

"Ah. Perhaps you have men in this same situation. Wanting more from you, but you do not want to give it to them. Do they berate you the same way as you are doing to me?"

She started to get out of bed, but he reached out, his grip like iron. "What are you doing, Spock? I want to get out of here."

"I am no longer certain we are finished for the night."

"I am. And if you don't release me, this will become non-consensual, and I will report you."

He let her go with astonishing speed, surprise clear on his face, and she scuttled out of the bed, nearly falling in her haste to get clear of him.

She pulled on her clothes, not looking at him, biting back tears that were as much from anger as hurt. "I hate you."

"Yes, of course. Remind me of that the next time we are together."

She wanted to throw something at him, but resisted the urge. Attempting to pull what dignity she could around her, she hurried to the door—trying but probably failing to look like she wasn't trying to flee.

##

Chapel sat in Kirk's quarters the next day, watching as he sent a message to his friend Captain Cartwright. "I appreciate this, sir."

"Matthew's good people. And you deserve your CMO slot." His eyes narrowed. "And to get away from Spock."

She couldn't meet his eyes. She hadn't told him anything other than she needed a change, but he knew. This shouldn't probably surprise her: he was a smart man.

"The way he stares at you is not lost on me, Christine. But it's not the...healthiest of looks."

"No, sir, it's not."

"Christine, call me Jim. How long have we known each other?"

She smiled. "Forever. Not that long. Both?"

He nodded. "Both. Matthew's going places. Play your cards right and you'll go places, too."

"Thank you, sir. I really appreciate this."

"Just be happy. You deserve it."

She met his eyes, saw something beyond kindness in them. Had it been there before? Had she been too blind for Spock to see it? "For what it's worth, Jim, I wish I'd fallen for you."

"I have a type. You're it. I'm a little...relieved you're leaving."

She wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but she appreciated him giving her that, making her feel desirable. "It's been an honor to serve with you again."

"Keep my friend in line. He's been alone a while. Lost his wife in a Klingon attack. Been years now but..." He met her eyes and smiled in a way she wasn't sure she understood. "Let's just say he doesn't have the same rules about dating people under his command. Provided, of course, that they're discreet."

"I know something about that. But I may not like him—or he me."

"True enough." He stood, pulled her in for a hug. "But he'd be a fool not to like you. And you him."

"Yes, sir."

"Jim."

"Jim." She pulled away a little reluctantly—it felt good in his arms—and headed to her quarters. She had an application to fill out. A new captain to impress.

She didn't actually think it would be that hard. Especially not with Kirk's letter of recommendation.

She took a deep breath and got to work on her future.

##

Later that evening she headed to Scotty's quarters. She found him sitting in the semi-dark, nursing a glass of scotch.

"I missed you last night." He threw back the rest of the scotch.

"I'm sorry. I told you what was up."

He nodded in a way that told her he'd probably wanted to visit her quarters a few hundred times. She felt the chafing sensation of being owned, watched, made to report. She hated that. It was why she'd avoided serious relationships with all but a few men.

So of course she'd have gladly become serious with Spock—a man who couldn't care less what she did or with whom, so long as he got to scratch his itch occasionally.

"I'm leaving." She couldn't bring herself to look at Scotty, hadn't meant to blurt it out that way with no preamble, but now that it was out, she was relieved. "I'm transferring off."

"What? Why?" He stared at her. "What did I do wrong? You're my friend, Christine. Tell me what it is I do wrong."

She heard the pain in his voice, pain she should never have caused, and she crouched in front of him, cupped his palm, and whispered, "It's not you. It's not anything you did. I don't know why the others left you. But I know why I'm leaving."

"Well, why?"

"Because if I stay with you, I'll be using you. You'll be nothing more than a _thing_ to me. A thing I want but don't love. And I will not do that to you."

"If you want me—in time, you might you lo—"

"I used to think that. About Spock. But I know better now." She didn't protest when he pulled her up to sit awkwardly in his lap. "I like you too much to do that to you, Montgomery."

He shook his head, a strange expression on his face. "Not a name I use."

"I like it, though. I mean I understand why you want to be Scotty. It's...light and happy and conscientious and everyone's friend. But inside you is something sadder and darker, and I think that's the Montgomery part."

"And _that's_ the part you like? The part of me I can't abide?"

"No. I like Scotty. I don't want to make the Montgomery part bigger. And I think I will if I stay." She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have slept with you."

"Was I...was I bad?"

She laughed gently. "No."

"Was there something I could've done differently? Made you happier?"

"Be Vulcan. Don't love me. Be cold." She closed her eyes. "Don't be you, in other words. Or anyone else who isn't Spock."

He cradled her close, and she buried her head against his shoulder, wanting to hide, to run from this woman she'd become.

This woman she'd always been.

"When I met Roger, he was with someone else. Her name was Andrea. She was...beautiful." She took a breath, and Scotty sat silently, tightening his hold but just listening. "He wasn't interested in me, either. She was more his type, you see." Chapel had found that out on that horrible rock of a planet when she saw Roger's mechanical geisha. "I made her go away. I made him love me."

"By go away do you mean...?"

She started to laugh. "I don't mean I killed her and threw her into a ditch. I mean I found out things she didn't want known and threatened to tell Roger. She left him, not the school, though. That was the deal. But even once she was out of his life, he didn't want me."

"But you were engaged."

"Not until I became everything that he wanted. Soft and pliable. 'Yes, Roger dear' and 'No, Roger dear.' You wouldn't have recognized me. I barely did." She took a ragged breath. "And then he disappeared. And the rest...you know." Except for Roger's true fate. Kirk had kept that secret safe all these years. Kirk and Spock.

"And you fell for another Roger when you set your cap on Spock?"

"I think I did. I have a type." She moved in a way that she hoped translated to "Let me up," and it must have because he let her go. She stood and began to pace. "I'm not a good person. I'm not a nice person. You don't want me. If you really knew me, you would run."

"Why? So you chased off his girl? What else did you do wrong?"

She laughed. "Didn't you wonder how I got this posting?"

His face changed. Fell and then shifted into something harsher, more...judgmental. "Decker?"

"Decker. Not exactly cold, but in love with someone else. Always and forever. I thought I could make him forget Ilia. I was an idiot. Imagine my surprise when she showed up." She closed her eyes. "Everyone showed up for V'ger."

"Aye. A regular party."

She grinned. "You can always make me smile. I do love that."

He sat, just staring at her for a moment. Then he said, "I think you might believe I'm a little dim when it comes to you. And maybe I was. I've always envied Spock the...dedication you showed, the sheer tenacity of your affection for him. Is it any wonder I wanted you? I thought you'd transfer that to me. Help me break this curse I seem to be under."

She was about to tell him it wasn't a curse, that he'd find a nice girl someday, but he held his hand up. "Christine, I know something happened with Spock to prompt this. He's the only person who could make you flee. Did he hurt you in some way?"

She remembered when Scotty was on trial for hurting women. She hadn't been sure what to think back then: the Scotty she knew was so fun, but there were the dark moments. But of course it hadn't been him, and now here he was thinking of her.

"He didn't hurt me. He gave me exactly what I needed: a wake-up call." She swallowed hard. "I'll get over him now."

"Will you? Do people like us really change?"

"Yes, we really do. It just might take a while."

"Where will you go?"

"There's a CMO vacancy on the _Dauntless_. I talked to the captain—I mean our captain—asked him where he thought I should go. He said his friend—the captain of the _Dauntless_—was going places. Good man to hitch my star to. Because...that's what I do."

"You don't have to do that."

"You'd rather I hitch it to you? And be here, with Spock? I don't think I'm that strong. See...the wake-up call, it wasn't him not wanting me. And knowing he does want me—even while knowing that the wanting doesn't include love—well, I'm not sure I could say no indefinitely."

He nodded, as if finally she was making sense to him. "So, when do you leave?"

"Well, I just put my name in the hat. If Cartwright likes what he sees in my file, I don't know. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a month."

"That soon." He held his hand out and she took it, let him pull her back onto his lap. "Don't leave me till you leave this ship. I'm used to that. A professional remnant, as it were."

"Don't say that." She saw his face change, to the one that meant it was true so why not speak plainly. It was what had drawn her to him in the first place. "Won't me being with you make it harder?"

"It will. But...we're friends. We're not in love." His face changed, a note of chagrin. "Well, you're not and I know you're not. And...we'll keep each other on the straight and narrow until you leave."

"You mean you'll keep me from sleeping with Spock?"

"And all your other men, lass. Do you think I'm blind?"

She closed her eyes.

"Ah. You do. Scotty may be, but Montgomery sees all. And doesn't much like it."

"I'm sorry. It was easier to not talk about that."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night, Christine. Now, speaking of sleep. Come to bed. We've got much drinking ahead of us at goodbye parties that will surpass all previous ones."

She kissed him, not because she loved him, but because he was being so kind when she didn't deserve it. When she'd used him and he probably knew that on some level.

He stroked her hair, smiling in a way that finally looked real, like he got it: she was leaving and they weren't going to be together forever. She wished she wasn't just another of his women who left.

"I do care about you," she whispered.

"I know, lass. We've had too much fun over the years for me not to know that." He pushed her up. "Promise me one thing. While you're in my bed, show me how to be better. I believe I could be. There's always room for improvement."

"So my sleeping with you will be an altruistic act."

"It sounds like you could use a few. Karma and all that."

She laughed. "All right. I'll help you—although you don't need much in the way of pointers. I truly don't think sex is the reason your women leave. And for what it's worth, I'll miss you so much more than I will Spock once I leave. Who will I drink with?"

"I have no illusions you'll find someone." His words weren't harsh enough to be a verbal slap; in fact, he looked at peace. "You're not like my other women, Christine. And that's good. You're leaving the ship and you're leaving Spock, but you're not leaving me. We were friends first and we'll always be that, right?"

"That's right." She pulled him down and kissed him gently. "So...bed?"

"If you were like those other women, I'd say that maybe I could make you stay, only I know you won't."

"No. I won't."

He nodded. "A man can hope." It was lightly said, and his eyes shone like the old times, but there was more Montgomery peeking out, and she knew there was very little hope in him right now.

"I'm sorry," she said. And she meant it.

Even if it was worth nothing at all.

FIN


End file.
